Each shop Queenie ventured into, she could tell she and Mary were looked down upon. In one, they were even followed by a man, who Mary said thought they were thieves.

‘Told you they were all stuck-up feckers round ’ere, didn’t I?’ Mary reminded Queenie.

‘You wasn’t wrong. They all speak with plums in their mouths an’ all. Did you see the way that last woman looked me up and down? I don’t look that poor, do I?’

‘You look grand. Take no fecking notice of them, darling. I was too busy looking at her teeth. Size of ’em. She could eat an apple through a letterbox with those.’

Queenie laughed. ‘Oooh, look, Mary. This one’s a nice shop, not as poncy as the others, and there’s a vacancy note in the window, saying apply within.’

‘Shall I start talking this time?’ asked Mary. She could tell the reaction Queenie had got so far was taking a toll on the girl’s confidence. She’d stammered her words in the last shop, the poor ha’porth.

Queenie smiled. Mary had the gift of the gab. ‘Yes, please.’

Mary marched straight up to the young woman behind the till. ‘Hello. Are you the manager? My niece has come about the vacancy in the window.’

‘Oh, yes. That only went in the window this morning. No. I’m not the manager. I’ll call her for you,’ the girl smiled.

When the girl walked away, Mary nudged Queenie. ‘She seems nice. Not as stuck-up as those others.’

‘Yes. I think I’d get on OK with her. She doesn’t look much older than me.’

The manager appeared and the look of distaste on her face was clear when she heard Mary’s Irish accent as she introduced Queenie.

‘The vacancy has already been taken, I’m afraid,’ snapped the posh tall dark-haired woman.

‘It can’t have been,’ replied Mary. ‘The girl who works for you said it had only gone in the window this morning.’

‘Erm, yes. But the job went first thing.’

‘Why’s the card still in the fecking window then?’ Mary retaliated.

The look on the posh manager’s face was one of horror. Queenie wanted to laugh, but instead joined in. ‘Yeah, the card shouldn’t be in the bloody window then.’

‘Get out. Now!’

‘Come on, Queenie,’ said Mary. ‘Got a face that’d sour milk, that one. You wouldn’t want to work for her would you, darling? May she be afflicted with itching without the benefit of scratching.’

‘I should coco. She’s got a face like a smacked arse, an’ all,’ Queenie replied loudly, noticing the girl that worked there was smiling behind the manager’s back.

Once outside the shop, Queenie rolled up. ‘You were right, Mary. It ain’t for me up ’ere.’

‘Told you. ’Ere, look at this sign. That says it all about the people round here, sweetheart.’

The sign was on the door of a pub. NO DOGS, NO BLACKS, NO IRISH, it read.

‘But wouldn’t they let you in?’ Queenie asked, astonished. Mary was such a smart lady.